Resident Advisor Review:
https://ra.co/reviews/25431
Dub, dancehall, industrial and ambient, all with a cyberpunk twist.
Over the last few years, Lyon's Comic Sans Records has released a consistent streak of outlandish, Gallic-infused electronic transmissions. Permeating both the sonic and visual realms of the label is an underlying magnetism to technology and futuristic dystopias. With each new release, Comic Sans' system upgrades and showcases both a more refined yet corrupted version of its insular cosmos. Low Khey is the natural next step of this mechanized evolution. The project, of which details have been kept strictly under wraps, emerges after a brief period of digital hiatus by the label—a messianic arrival in the form of Never Trust A Cyborg. The release has an hermetic, self-contained quality in both its sound and themes, a calculated and striking execution that is reflected through its ten tracks. The whole project, from the sounds and samples used, to the tracks' lengths, focuses on short, digestible formats. Each element is finely tuned to a precise and highly technical standard, eradicating any form of fat or pleasantries. Here be experimentations in genres contiguous to bass, lingering around the 90-100 BPM mark and manifesting Low Khey's craftsmanship in beat-making. It's a patchwork of hybrid sounds that seem to capture the essence of a possible future in which AI has taken over. After the title track, which features terrified vocals and video game sounds, humans seem to disappear from the release, leaving ample space for intricate beats and the mutterings of distant androids. What would a cyborg listen to in this reality? "Proteus" suggests the gurgles of mechanical fauna. "Ying Yang" is a textured audio exploration that sounds like a revving wipE'out" anti-grav ship. "Huta Vibz" and "Click Of Death" look to warmer climates with their dancehall-inspired beats. The sanitised industrial loops of "Control X" recall Pretty Hate Machine-era Nine Inch Nails. Low Khey's brio shines through on "Homos Festivus," with its luscious synths and softer beat counterbalanced by mechanical siren yelps. Referencing essayist Philippe Muray's homo festivus, a being totally devoted to pleasure and its own personal fulfillment, the track lets you peer into Low Khey's grinning humanity; alas, it's only the uncanny valley smile of a robotic entity.
-Melanie Battolla
